


Something Borrowed

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Communication, Developing Relationship, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Power Dynamics, Role Reversal, Sexism, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-18 23:19:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13110621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: "I'm not going to let you go."How Theon learns to let himself fall.





	Something Borrowed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SelkieWife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelkieWife/gifts).



> Written for [Throbb Secret Santa 2017](http://averythrobbxmas.tumblr.com), for this prompt:
> 
>  
> 
> _Fan fic based on the idea that the only place Theon could have control was in the bedroom, I'd love to see a fic exploring the first time Theon relinquishes sexual control to Robb. Could be Christmas/Holidays or not :)_
> 
>  
> 
> Wound up like 90% build-up, because of course. Possibly more depressing than ideal for this sort of thing, but it ends fluffily. Also I kind of cheated and made a technical AU re: ages, so we're going with show-age Robb and book-age Theon, leading to a 2-3 year age gap. Go with it.

The first time they see each other, they are but boys, and Theon is – not scared, no, he can't be scared. Father would never forgive him if he was scared. Maron and Rodrik wouldn't have been scared. But he does not know these people, does not trust these people, and deep in his heart he wants to go home. On the ship Lord Stark offered him furs to keep him warm, offered to tuck him into his bed, tried to play the father, but Theon remained silent. The man is not his father. To think anything else would be treason.

He meets Lord Stark's family in the courtyard. His wife, newborn babe in her arms, smiles at him, but her eyes look tired. Most of the children are too young to be of any interest. But it's the firstborn Lord Stark takes care to introduce him to.

Robb Stark, all of seven years old, grins frantically, and reaches for Theon's hand. His handshake is rough, clumsy, and threatens to pull Theon down to the ground. He looks as if there is nothing he wants more in the world than to be Theon's friend.

Theon shakes Stark's hand, and smiles back. Only ten years old, he is already falling.

He is falling, and he hates it.

* * *

Alys Karstark shows up when he is eleven and Robb is barely even nine. The girl is even younger and yet her lord father is already throwing her at him. Officially, that's not why the Karstarks are here, but everyone knows it really is. Robb seems to like her too, dancing with her and charming her thoroughly while the feast goes on around them.

Seems like it's a good feast, everyone enjoying themselves. Even the bastard is merrily dancing with Karstark girl, although he's clearly trying to look as sullen as always. Theon should be out there enjoying himself too – he's been at this castle over a year now, and is no longer the small scared boy he once was. He's learned to grin and jape with these people who'd have his head. He thinks of Maron's impenetrable smile, Rodrik's dirty mouth, and while he never really liked either of his brothers he models himself on them, and in that way he thinks he can carry the legacy of the House of Greyjoy into this frozen wasteland.

But as he watches Robb dance with the girl his lord father means to sell him to, he almost wants to cry. But Greyjoys do not cry.

At some point, Lady Catelyn comes over and takes a seat by his side, catching him off-guard. Why would she do that? “Theon, is everything alright?” she asks.

“Fine,” Theon mutters, not very convincingly. He's not sure why she's bothering. Lady Catelyn is kind enough to him, but she has too much to deal with to really play the mother to him – four babes and mayhaps another sometime soon, not to mention whatever she's meant to do with her husband's bastard. He is not one of hers. She doesn't trust him, that's the thing, and Theon shouldn't let her play the mother anyway – he remembers his own mother sobbing as Lord Stark took him away, and to embrace another woman too seems like treason.

Lady Catelyn sighs and follows his eyes across the hall, to where Robb is still talking to the Karstark girl, who looks as if she's starting to fall asleep. “The northern lords are all eager to secure a betrothal with their liege's heir,” she says. “They're still a little annoyed they missed their opportunity in the last generation.”

Theon turns his head and frowns, and for the first time he realises, she is a foreigner here too. He wonders if sometimes she feels as out of place as he does.

She looks at him and smiles kindly, takes his hand and squeezes. “Theon, I'm sure your lord father will arrange a fine match for you. Once you return home.”

A sick feeling settles in Theon's stomach. _She thinks I'm jealous._

“Fine,” he says and yanks his hand away. After a moment he gives her a questioning look, as if to say _what are you still doing here?_ Soon, she sighs again and walks away, off to someone who wants her pity.

Theon keeps watching Robb and Alys as she yawns and leans against his shoulder, her brute of a father grinning when he sees. Theon rubs his eyes hurriedly.

* * *

The first time they talk about sex, it's brought on in a fairly logical manner: it immediately follows the first time Theon ever has it. He's fourteen, and sneaking back in to the castle at night from his adventures in Winter Town. He's grinning, because that's what he should be doing, right? He's a man now. He can just imagine his father clapping him on the shoulder, telling him he's a true Ironborn.

Admittedly he knows he'll be in trouble tomorrow for staying out all night, but it's not like he meant for it to happen. He wanted to be back before dinner, but he got lost on the way. Then he got hungry, and a kindly miller's wife offered him some soup. She looked maybe three or four years older than him, and lonely. One thing led to another.

He should go to bed, but he can't quite resist stopping and knocking on young Robb's door to gloat. There's a pause, and then the door slowly opens. Blue eyes go wide through the crack. “Theon? Where have you been, everyone's been so worried!” Theon struggles not to laugh. Robb's just a boy, but he sounds exactly like a fussing mother hen. He's too close to Lady Catelyn, some would say. “My father's going to kill you!”

Theon does his best not flinch. He knows Robb doesn't mean that. Anyway, he doubts anyone was actually that concerned. “I've been out,” he says, smirking, and Robb rolls his eyes. “Can I come in?”

Robb steps aside and Theon swaggers in with as much of a man's bearings as he can manage. Though he's thrown off-guard when he realises how tall Robb has gotten. He's still got a few inches on the boy, but still, Robb is catching up fast. Robb raises an eyebrow at him. “So I assume you're here to tell me something?”

Theon grins, and leans in to whisper in Robb's ear exactly what he's been doing.

When he hears, Robb turns bright red. “You didn't!”

Theon laughs and helps himself to a seat across Robb's bed, spreading his legs over the furs. “I thought you'd be impressed.”

“What is my father going to say?!” Robb asks, which sounds... less impressed than Theon was expecting.

He shrugs. “I don't see how it's any of his business,” he says.

“They're our smallfolk, Theon,” Robb tells him, and Theon frowns. That comes so easily to Robb, the responsibility he was born with, the binding tie to the land. He's barely more than a boy, and yet he's already so much the little lord. Sometimes Theon doesn't know why he likes him so much. Robb sighs forlornly. “Did you at least do something so you wouldn't – you know – sire a child?”

Theon shrugs uncomfortably. No, he didn't. He didn't think of it, it all happened so fast. It's not like the miller's wife reminded him. “I don't see why it matters,” he says. “She has a husband, it's not like anyone would know the difference.”

Robb gives him a withering look. “You were with a married woman?”

Theon can feel himself start to shrink under Robb's glare. He didn't know the boy had it in him to look like that. “Hey, it wasn't my idea,” he insists. “She invited me in, she offered me some dinner, she offered me some other things too. I wasn't going to be so rude as to refuse. Anyway, her husband's probably some old fat git her parents sold her to for a couple of pigs, why shouldn't she get some decent cock on the side?” At least he's making Robb blush, which somewhat lessens the impact of his judgement. “She was barely older than me, after all.” But she was older, and though she tried to hide it, she looked more than a little disappointed when Theon barely lasted a minute before finishing. He winces. He was trying not to remember that bit. “Anyway, the point is, not everyone has to fuck under the furs without candles like your lord father and lady mother. Don't take it out on me just because you're jealous.”

The boy's face rapidly turns from red to purple. “I am not jealous!”

Theon pauses, examines the look of anger and anxiety Robb is wearing, and smirks. “You are, aren't you?” A strange knot loosens inside him. All this time he thought Robb was genuinely looking down on him, but now... “Oh come on now, there's nothing to be ashamed of. You might be a little lord, but you're a strapping young lad. Wouldn't be natural if you didn't think about fucking sometimes.”

Robb scowls and drops his gaze to the floor. Theon chuckles. “You know, I wouldn't mind telling you a little bit more about it. If you want.”

“I don't,” Robb mutters, but he doesn't meet Theon's eye.

Theon shrugs and stands up. “Fine then.” If Robb wants to know more, he'll have to come to Theon. Maybe he shouldn't be so smug, but it's like finding a crack he can break open – he's found a way in which the Starks' perfect son isn't so perfect.

* * *

A few years pass, and Theon makes a habit of dallying with whatever girl takes his fancy. He goes back to the miller's wife a couple of times, but he quickly grows bored of her – she still sees him as the man-maid she deflowered, and that puts him off. It makes him feel weak and helpless, all because of some common Northern bitch. He prefers girls a year or so younger than him, girls who've never met him, girls who barely know what an Ironborn is and are awed just by the concept of him.

To his great surprise, Lord and Lady Stark don't seem to mind. In truth, he doesn't think they care. So long as he keeps it out of their eyes, it's not their problem – he won't be siring their bastard grandchildren. It's for the best, he thinks.

As he grows up, Robb grows more used to Theon's stories about his escapades, to the point he hardly even blushes anymore. That slightly annoys Theon, and he finds himself doing wilder and more deviant things in the hopes of shocking Robb again – but mostly, the boy just laughs.

Sometimes though, on quiet nights, Robb comes to him with shy, whispered curiosities, all the things a boy like Robb scarcely dares to dream. And Theon answers him, again in whispers, dirty, deviant words that take hold in Lord Stark's mind and burn their way through him, from the inside out. Theon tells legends of cocks and cunts and seed and sweat, and makes Robb bite his lip and squirm against the sheets. He feels half a sorceror, casting a spell that has his captors' heir under his thrall.

Then one day at the height of the harvest, he, Robb and Snow all wash off after training. Theon turns his head and sees Robb isn't a boy anymore.

He's not quite a man yet, but Theon can imagine he'd do in a pinch, already thick with muscle, a dusting of dark red hair across his chest and jaw. Theon imagines that if any of the serving wenches were watching him now, towelling the sweat off his body with a damp washcloth, they'd all want to fuck him. Even in summer the air is cold enough his wide pink nipples jut out, red and round as strawberries. Theon gazes over the swell of his bicep, the spread of his shoulders, the curves of his abdomen, the dip of his hips leading down to where a small wooden wall keeps Theon from seeing his prick, and whether it's as solid and imposing as the rest of him. Still, Theon can imagine Robb in his father's furs, sword in hand, Lord of Winterfell unquestioned. A shiver of fear goes through him.

But soon he starts to worry it's not all fear. He looks down and sees his own prick rapidly stiffening in front of him, and he silently curses it. _Traitor_. Still, it means nothing. Theon's not much more than a boy himself, and these things happen to boys. He keeps his eyes away from Robb until the swelling goes down, just in case.

* * *

The first time he tries to talk Robb into sex, to be fair, he does kind of spring it on the boy out of nowhere. He thought it would be easier if he could take Robb to the tavern first, get him drunk enough to relax, and not think too much about what he's doing.

He should have realised it wouldn't work out. As he leads Robb from one building to another, Robb stops, stares at the place Theon is heading toward, and frowns. “Theon, where are you going?”

Halfway up a set of stairs, Theon nods to the building behind him, constructed out of cheap wood, old and run down. “Here.”

“That's a brothel, Theon,” says Robb.

Theon rolls his eyes. “Yes, and?” he asks. “Come on.”

Robb's eyes go wide as Theon takes another step toward the door. “Theon, I can't!” he exclaims, sounding now totally sober. “I'm not going to – with one of those girls, it's beneath me.”

Theon sighs and folds his arms over his chest, getting annoyed. _I've been with almost every one of those girls._ “Look, Robb, you're almost six and ten,” he tells the boy. “It's about time you became a man. The castle will start to wonder if you don't get it away soon.”

Robb grits his teeth together, staying firmly in place. “I'm not interested in gossip,” he says, sounding alarmingly like his lord father. “I don't need to prove myself. _That_ doesn't make anyone a man.”

Theon tries not to flinch – he thinks he feels the barb more strongly than Robb meant it. _Don't be stupid._ “But it can't hurt, can it?” he grins. Really, he doesn't know why he cares so much. Ever since that day at training, it's been strange seeing Robb with a man's body, with muscle and hair and a solid cock between his legs, and knowing he remains untouched. It's easy to imagine him with a girl, her long legs around his waist, her dark hair threaded through his hands, her letting him fuck her hard and deep until she screams. It's easy for Theon to imagine it, at least. It seems to be less so for Robb. “What are you so afraid of?” At that, Robb scowls and averts his eyes. Theon takes a moment to think it over. “It's not the bastard, is it?” Robb doesn't answer, but Theon sees him flinch. Theon scoffs. “Oh come on now, I'm sure the girls in there are all very careful about taking their moon tea. Snow won't ever know. Hell, if you're that scared I'm sure they have boys as well–”

“Would you _shut up_?!” Robb shouts at him, making Theon jump. Under that glower, he starts to shrink away quickly. He forgets he is the older of them, for he's never felt smaller, or more dirty. “You don't understand. Now I'm going back to the castle.”

“Fine,” says Theon, swallowing hard and trying to restore his pride. He's infuriated with Robb for making him feel like that. “That's not my problem. I'm going to have a nice time.”

“You do that,” says Robb, and Theon ignores him storming off as he turns around. He opens the door.

* * *

To his credit, Theon does try and solve the problem. If Robb's worried what the bastard will think, Theon can make it so the bastard has no room to be judging. These fucking Starks. It makes him wonder how Lord Stark sired such a brood in the first place.

Of course it doesn't work out. To be fair, Jon goes along with it a lot longer than Theon was expecting, and doesn't punch Theon in the face the first time he broaches the subject – although he does seem more than a little suspicious, and at first presumes this is just Theon setting him up for some trick. Hard to blame him. Still, eventually he ends up in the room of the brothel, and Theon sighs as he waits outside, able to relax at a job well done.

And he gets interrupted by Jon storming out of the room, almost looking like he's in tears. Theon opens his mouth to say something, although he has no idea what, but the bastard's gone before he can get a word out. In the room, the poor whore looks very confused. “Is he alright?”

Theon give her a dubious look. “What's it to you?”

She almost looks offended, which is rare in her profession. “He just seemed upset is all,” she says, and lifts a silver coin off the table. “He didn't even take his money.”

Well, she's got what she wants out of this at least. Theon looks her over, naked and ready, red curls tumbling down her shoulders, with fulsome curves. She's not his usual type; she's a bit too old, too mouthy – he prefers the girls he feels are impressed by him. Still, just now, he finds himself strangely drawn to her.

“Well you've been paid,” he says, and steps inside. “Might as well get some work out of you.”

The whore looks him over a second, and then lies back and shrugs, as if to say that's fine with her. Theon gets to work.

Really, Snow is just like his brother, acting like he's too good for this sort of thing. The Starks would never lower themselves to anything as base as whoring, as tempting as it might be. Theon groans as he imagines Robb in a place like this, with some whore he's chosen to let the wolf in him out on; he imagines Robb pulling long dark hair and bruising pale skin, marking, claiming as his own.

Theon spends in between the whore's thighs and leaves her panting for breath. They extract themselves from each other and Theon sets about redressing, while the whore reaches for a washcloth. “I hope your friend won't be mad you stole his girl,” she comments.

He stops. _Snow's not my friend,_ he wants to say, but explaining his relationship with the bastard is going to take more effort than it's worth. “You're hardly his girl,” he tells her. “And you're not mine either.”

“Of course not, m'lord, I'm just a whore purchased for the night.” Then she turns and gives him a mysterious smile. “And you were thinking about someone else. I could tell.”

Theon's jaw drops open, and he has no idea how to respond to that. What he ends up with is: “What's your name?”

She smiles wider, and Theon curses himself. She knows he'd only ask that question if he wanted to see her again. His eyes brush over her long red hair. “Ros.”

He ends up seeing this Ros a lot.

* * *

The first time he and Robb do anything together, it's sort of an accident. They're drunk. They're just back from a feast and Theon highly doubts Robb is going to be able to make it all the way back to his chambers, so he drags Robb into his rooms instead, keeping his name from being at all stained. Lord and Lady Stark would be proud.

The boy collapses in a heap on Theon's bed, giggling at everything and nothing. Theon should probably stop calling him 'the boy'. Ever since that day at training, he's obscenely aware how close to manhood Robb really is. He's newly six and ten – right, that's what the feast was about. But he looks as old as Theon does, if not older. It's unsettling. Perhaps that's why, despite knowing he shouldn't, Theon still tries hard to think of him as 'the boy'. Still, Theon giggles with him.

“I'm cold,” Robb groans and burrows closer, leaning into Theon's chest, seemingly not worried about how it might look.

Theon doesn't push him away. “You're spoiled,” he chuckles, and rustles Robb's hair affectionately. “It's not as warm here as in your big fancy chambers.” Not that Theon has any grounds for complaint; his rooms aren't as nice as Robb's, or even Snow's, but he's hardly likely to freeze in the night.

Robb groans and burrows closer still, his hair tickling under Theon's nose. “I don't think there's much difference.” One of his arms winds around Theon's shoulder, pulls him closer, and he sighs contentedly. “I like the way you smell,” Robb whispers. “You smell like salt. You smell like the sea.”

Theon suddenly feels much drunker than he thought he was. He thinks he ought to push Robb away, or to laugh and act like it's nothing, just one of those stupid things drunk men say sometimes, but he finds himself unable to say, do anything. He feels trapped, the weight of Robb's arm heavy on his shoulders.

Robb squirms, trying to get comfortable, and Theon thinks a string of abominable language as he feels the blood under his skin heat up, before rushing down toward his groin. He can't explain it. He's too old to get hard at every passing breeze, and isn't like he even has a breeze to blame – it doesn't come through his window, and besides, the winds at Winterfell are nothing like they were at Pyke. There's only Robb here, now. Theon likes the way Robb smells too. Robb smells of spring, somehow, the Northern ice of his father and southern heat of his mother, something fresh and new and promising, everything Theon's never been. Gods, Theon must be really drunk.

He lies there frozen, unable to push Robb away, just waiting for the boy to notice and be appalled. But Robb says nothing, and Theon thinks he might get lucky, that Robb might not actually notice. Then, as Robb's body shuffles against his, Theon notices something. He laughs in disbelief, relief.

“You're hard.”

He expects Robb to be horrified, mortified – to pull away and blush red, and Theon knows he shouldn't hope for that but still, it would mean it wasn't his fault things went awry. But Robb just pauses, and then he answers: “So are you.”

Theon gulps. He has nothing to say to that. Robb keeps moving against him, and Theon almost wants to hit him and tell him to stop, because he's making it worse. Theon only gets harder as Robb moves closer toward him, and then somehow both their cocks just slot together in their breeches and–

“ _Ohhh_ ,” Theon can't keep himself from moaning as Robb rocks against him, and he never lets himself be the first one to moan, he never concedes that ground. Robb's fingers dig into his shoulder and it's only then that Theon realises Robb might be doing it on purpose.

“Theon,” Robb whispers in his ear, and Theon can't bring himself to look down and see the look on his face, the hope or fear or pride. “Do you want to–?”

Pleasure sparks up Theon's spine as Robb's hard length presses against his own, and he knows there are thousands of reasons he should say no, but he can't think of any of them. “Oh fuck,” he murmurs, and that only makes Robb thrust against him harder, faster. “Oh _fuck_.”

“Theon?” Robb whispers, spurred on, but still waiting for a proper answer. “ _Do_ you want to?”

And suddenly Theon hates the position he's in, lying here like a dead fish, letting Robb thrust against him and ask his permission like he's some trembling maid. Theon isn't a dead fish, he's a kraken. With a growl, he grabs Robb's wrist and squeezes tight, making the boy gasp. “Yes, of course I want to,” he spits like Robb is a fool for asking, “now fucking touch me already.”

Robb seems disoriented a moment, but when Theon drags his hand to the front of his breeches, Robb quickly figures it out. With more dexterity than you'd expect for a drunk man, he unlaces Theon and quickly sticks his hand inside, taking hold of Theon's hard, wet, big cock.

“Yeah, that's right,” Theon mutters as Robb shyly starts to stroke him, and Theon bucks recklessly into his grip, still not looking the boy in the eye – he lets the little Stark lordling try and pleasure him. “That's how I like it.”

It doesn't take very long before he spends. Robb has one hand on his cock and the other fondling himself through his breeches, and like that, Theon feels like he's in control.

* * *

After, there is the question of what happens next. They were drunk and it would be easy enough to pretend nothing's changed, and Theon thinks he could keep up a lie like that, but he doesn't think Robb could. Robb can hardly look him in the eye anymore, he keeps blushing and muttering that he's busy whenever Theon tries to talk to him, and Theon can feel the anger building in his gut. _You weren't so shy when you wanked me off like a slut,_ he thinks.

But another part of him, perhaps a bigger part, worries it's his fault. That he shouldn't have let what happened happen, and now it has he's ruined things forever. Robb won't ever be able to see him as anything but...

Then one night over dinner, Robb – still blushing, but able to meet his eye again – whispers in his ear: “Would you like to come to my room tonight?”

Theon grins.

* * *

The first time Robb sucks him off, it's his idea, and Theon takes that as his excuse to do whatever he likes with the boy. They've been tossing each other off for weeks now, sharing their beds and rutting in the mornings, and seemingly no-one – not Lord Stark, not his wife, not the rest of the Starks, none of the household – is any the wiser. Once, Theon even overhears Lady Stark telling her husband how Theon's been better behaved recently, that she thinks Robb is having a good impact on him, and Theon laughs a little to himself.

One night Theon is gasping as Robb strokes him hard and fast, squirming against his thigh and kissing his neck – almost enough to leave a mark, but Theon always pushes him back just in time. “Theon,” Robb whispers against his skin, “do you want me to–?”

Robb doesn't finish the sentence, of course he doesn't, but before Theon knows it he's halfway down the bed and wrapping his lips around the head of Theon's cock. His grip on the base of Theon's length is shy and awkward, but he looks up at Theon with big, wide eyes, asking for approval.

Theon groans and arches up off the bed. Robb might have a man's body now, but his face still has a boyish innocence to it that Theon can't resist. For a moment, he feels frighteningly helpless as Robb sucks him down, spreading his legs so the young Lord Stark can do as he wants with his prick, but then Theon reminds himself that _he's_ the one getting his cock sucked, and Robb's the one desperate enough to swallow it like a two-copper whore.

He threads his hand through Robb's red curls and without a word, he pushes the boy down, until he gags obscenely. He thinks of Ros at the brothel a moment. But Robb doesn't protest, doesn't pull away – he lets Theon arch up and fuck his mouth, and Theon can only just imagine what Lord Stark would make of that. _The boy would do anything for me,_ he thinks, and he almost believes it.

* * *

Sometimes he teases Robb, sly little barbs that no-one else would recognise, as they go about their lives as the Starks' heir and the Stark's ward. Sometimes he regales the men with the tales of his exploits with various girls, fudging the detail that they may not always have been with girls. Sometimes he makes little japes to Robb, tells him that he could take him for a wife, and no-one realises that Theon means anything by it. Sometimes he even dares to touch Robb in quiet corridors or under the table at dinner, and while Robb always looks a little alarmed his cock always jumps in Theon's hand.

Theon knows he's being stupid, taking a risk that's too much even for him. If the Starks find out what he's doing, they'll have his head. But he needs Robb to _know_ , to remember what he lets Theon do to him, even when everyone else treats him like he's the same flawless little lord he's always been. Sometimes Robb looks ashamed when Theon talks to him, touches him, but sometimes he looks a little eager too. Perhaps he also likes the thought he's getting away with this and his parents have no idea.

Still, sometimes Theon can't help but worry he'll push too far. That he'll make Robb angry and the boy will find a way to punish him. Sometimes he thinks Robb _should_ – no man should just accept this sort of treatment. Theon never would.

But Robb never complains, not even when they're alone together and don't have to pretend anymore, and sometimes Theon fears it's because Robb thinks he deserves it. That the boy is that ashamed of himself. Other times, he fears it's because Robb expects it. That he thinks that's what you get for fucking Theon Greyjoy. Theon remembers that night at the brothel, when Robb was too good to use the girls in there like Theon would, and he feels a little queasy.

Theon tries not to think of such things though. He tells himself Robb is getting exactly what he wants.

* * *

The first time he actually fucks Robb, he doesn't have an excuse. They've been fooling around for months now, keeping themselves concealed from the Starks' prying eyes, and the whole time Theon has stubbornly refused to think about what any of it means, other than the fact he's getting to come.

So they can't fuck properly, because if they were going to, they've have to talk about it first, to figure out who went where. Theon thinks the Starks would kill him if he defiled their heir that way. And if Robb fucked him...

That lasts until one day he, Robb and Snow all have to watch Lord Stark behead some man. A deserter from the Watch. Theon has trained himself to think nothing of it, until he hears Lord Stark recite the man's name. Egart Pyke.

Pyke. Pyke. Pyke.

When they return to the castle, Theon follows Robb back to his chambers, uncharacteristically quiet. As soon as the door is closed he grabs Robb by his collar and throws him onto the bed.

Robb gasps in shock, but when Theon climbs on top of him and smashes their mouths together, he moans and kisses back, spreading his legs as easy as ever. Theon can feel him trembling – with desire, presumably. He tears Robb's laces as he yanks the shirt from the boy's chest, but he can't bring himself to care – Robb certainly doesn't. He doesn't give a fuck if Theon breaks him wanting him.

The lamp falls to the ground with a clatter while Theon fumbles for the oil by its side, and madly Theon hopes someone heard the noise, even if they don't know where it came from. He hopes _Lord Stark_ will hear. Robb bites his lip, and Theon's sure he's going to be told _no,_ he'll be told _stop_ , he'll be told _I won't_. But Robb lifts his hips and awkwardly tugs his breeches down, exposing himself, as if he doesn't mind at all what Theon does with him.

They ought to talk, but Theon has no idea what to say. So instead he forces his fingers inside rough, hard and demanding, so he can see Robb flinch in pain, and he thinks _stop me. Tell me no._ But Robb doesn't; he closes his eyes and thrusts back and invites Theon in.

Theon fucks him fast, in every sense – he's too quick push his way inside, he hooks Robb's legs up around his waist and drills into him mercilessly, and he spends within a couple of minutes, lacing Robb's insides with his seed, the white of it splashing like a crested wave. Robb doesn't do much better, crying out as Theon absently, clumsily wanks him off, staining the black velvet doublet Theon didn't bother to take off. _Shit._

After, they're left panting in one another's faces, still bound together, and Theon doesn't know what to do. He doesn't feel relaxed the way he usually does after he fucks. He doesn't feel like he's expelled whatever it was he was trying to. He feels more tight and wound than ever, and he's almost worried about Robb – he's almost afraid of what he, Theon, might do to him.

It takes Robb a long time to even open his eyes. He seems to have found a greater calm than Theon – he no longer trembles the way he did before. When he does look up, he smiles shyly. Theon coughs. “Are you alright?”

Robb bites his lip and nods. “Yeah,” he says, but it's not very convincing. Theon can see realisation, and with it, dread dawning upon him. Robb doesn't weep like some of the girls Theon's deflowered, but still, he must know what he's let been done to him, what this makes him. Part of Theon feels sorry for him. Another part thinks _better you than me._

A hand strokes Theon's cheek, catching him off guard. They're both covered in sweat and stinking of seed, and they'll have to wash before dinner, lest they raise suspicions. Although they would have had to do that anyway, so they wouldn't be eating still smelling of poor Egart's blood. Robb smiles at him. “Theon, I–”

Theon kisses him then, which might be a first, he can't quite remember. But whatever it is, it's easier than listening to the end of that sentence.

* * *

So maybe it's not a good time, when he's just fucked Robb from three different angles in mayhaps half an hour, left him softly whimpering as seed soaks his belly and his hole, for Theon to ask: “Do you think your lord father would let me marry Sansa?”

Robb, lying on his back and gasping for breath, legs still in the air as if he's forgotten how to take them down again, takes a long while to even register the question. Eventually though, his mouth closes, he groans as he lies his legs straight on the bed, and he tilts his face toward Theon. “What?”

Theon shrugs and rolls on his side, so he can face Robb more easily. He's starting to feel stupid for asking. “Would he?”

Robb blinks at him. “Where did this come from?”

Fair question. Theon's heard rumours, with the king's impending visit, that they mean to ship her off to the little prince, and so Theon feels he ought to check while he still has a chance. “That's not important,” he tells Robb, and then he frowns. “You haven't answered.”

“Theon...”

“Just tell me, Stark.” Theon does his best to grin as if he doesn't care either way, but he doesn't think it goes very well.

Robb sighs deeply. “I – I don't know,” he mutters, averting his eyes. Theon scoffs.

“You're a terrible liar, Stark,” he says, laughing like a fool, like a madman. “Don't worry, I was expecting that answer.” He's not good enough to marry the little Lady Sansa, of course not. No matter how many silks he wears or songs he might write, Lord Stark would never be stupid enough to wed his precious girl to an Ironborn brute. She'll be sent south to be with that Baratheon brat, to be queen some day, far more fitting a girl of her station. “Still. Lord Stark might not let me have his daughter, but I'm still fucking his son. Nothing he can do about that.” 

Robb doesn't answer that, but he winces a little. Theon frowns again. “Robb?” he says, and he doesn't know why he has to ask, other than his own need to sabotage himself. “Would _you_ let me marry Sansa?”

The boy finally looks Theon in the eye again, and bites his lip nervously. “Theon...”

“You wouldn't, would you?” Theon says in disbelief, unable to grin anymore, unable to hide his anger. “You don't think I'm good enough either. I can warm a Stark's bed, but I could never be a Stark, could I?”

“That's not what it's like,” Robb says. “What is all this about, anyway? I mean, do you _want_ to marry Sansa?”

“Sansa's not the point!”

Robb glares at him. “Well then I'm definitely not going to let you marry her,” he snaps, and Theon blinks, caught off-guard. _What?_ “Theon, I know you. I know the way you treat women. You hop from one to another like a randy tomcat. Would you really be faithful to your marriage bed? I've seen how much Father having one bastard hurts my mother. Do you think I want to put my sister through that?”

Theon head spins, trying to follow along. _They're his family,_ says a strange, bitter part of his mind, _you're just his slut. What sort of man would he be if he didn't care about them more than you?_ It reminds Theon of how he felt that night outside the brothel, when Robb looked at him like he was too good to ever descend to fucking, too good to descend to Theon's level, and it makes Theon blisteringly angry. He thought he broke that part of Robb.

“Oh, like you're so much better?” he asks. “Do you think whatever Northern bride your parents steal for you will be just thrilled to learn her lord husband lets other men fuck him like a twopenny slut?”

Robb winces and looks away again, burying his head in the pillows. Theon smiles smugly, convincing himself that he's won – that Robb's going to apologise to him any second now.

Then he hears a faint sob.

He frowns, looking at Robb as he burrows further into the bed, as if the boy is trying to disappear. Theon doesn't know what to do. Awkwardly, he holds his hand out to Robb's shoulder.

“I think you should go,” Robb says before Theon can even make contact. Theon pulls back like he's been scalded. “Now.”

Theon doesn't know what to do. So he defers. He obeys Lord Stark's order.

It's the first time Robb's ever truly rejected him.

* * *

And then they're fighting. It's not the first time they've ever fought, but it is since they started fucking ( _since I started fucking him,_ Theon tells himself, but he doesn't really believe it), and Theon feels like that shouldn't make it worse, but it does.

It might be easier if he thought the rest of the Starks knew everything, but while they can all tell they're fighting, they're all completely oblivious as to why. It's so frustrating Theon could scream, and he scowls when he realises the reason it is that frustrating is because he's _lonely._ A stupid part of him just wants to talk to someone about Robb, but he knows the only person he could ever talk to is Robb.

When Lady Stark asks him if he's seen her firstborn, he lies and tells her he saw him and Snow headed to the godswood, just to see her look slightly wounded. Which she does, but – it's not very satisfying. Lady Stark has never liked or trusted him, has always worried he's going to corrupt Robb – then Theon thinks of her face if she knew all the things he really has done to Robb, all the things Robb's let him do. What might usually fill him with smug pride suddenly stabs him with guilt. Maybe Lady Stark has a point.

Speaking of the bastard, he's no better. He becomes Robb's shadow, an ever present obstacle to Theon regaining Robb's favour, and Theon can't let on how deep his envy runs.

It was Sansa who started all this, and Theon watches her sometimes as she does her perfect embroidery, humming and smiling to herself. _I should fuck her just to spite him,_ he thinks. He should time it for the king's visit, so they know she's not good enough for the prince, and the Starks will have to sell her cheap to Theon just to save her name. Except Theon can't make himself want to do it. Robb was right, he doesn't actually want to marry her. Sansa is so innocent, so gentle, so pure, and Theon can't bring himself to fuck her life up by making her his wife. If he did, he'd probably end up hanging himself from the guilt.

And above it all looms Lord Stark, this man of ice, asking Theon to hand him his sword.

Theon ends up taking his feelings out on the archery targets, which have always been there for him, and his aim might not be as good as normal but who's watching?

“What's up with you then?”

He turns around and sees little Arya staring at him from the balcony above. So that's who's watching. She does that sometimes, enviously. It reminds him of Asha when he was young, how she used to steal his training swords, and he's not sure if the memory's more annoying or fond. Once or twice, Theon's contemplated offering to teach the girl how to shoot, if she's so eager to learn, but he's not sure what Lord Stark would make of that. Besides, it's not like Theon really talks to the brat.

“What business is it of yours, Underfoot?” he asks, and she shrugs.

“It's not like you to be so sloppy.”

He scowls. She knows how to get at his pride – shooting has always been the one thing no-one in this godforsaken castle has ever been able to scratch him at. Maybe that's the other reason he's never offered to teach her. With a sigh, he puts his bow aside and grabs ahold of the railing, pushing himself up and under to join her. Bran's not the only one who has ways of getting about this castle.

Once he's standing by her side, Arya looks up at him, expecting an answer. Theon can hardly just tell her he's fucking her older brother though – not least because she'd never believe him. “Would you marry me?” he asks.

Arya stares at him with absolute, undisguised disbelief, and repulsion. “Absolutely not.”

“Thanks.” Theon tries not to take it personally. Arya's barely one and ten, she's still at that age at which all boys are repulsive – if the girl is lucky, she'll never change her mind. But Arya might be the problem child, the half-boy half-girl that her parents, as much as they love her, aren't quite sure what to do with – and yet she's still a Stark, so she's too good for him. Of course she is. “Why not?” he asks.

The girl shrugs awkwardly. “I... don't like you very much,” and she at least knows enough to tell that's rude, but she's being honest with him. “Sorry.”

Theon sighs and averts his eyes. “Who does?” he mutters.

“Robb?” Arya suggests. Theon frowns and turns back to look at her again. He wasn't actually expecting her to answer. “What are you two fighting about anyway? Can you stop? Jon is getting sick of him moping all the time.”

Theon scoffs. “He'll be fine.” When isn't he? Robb has Snow, he has his parents, he has his brothers and sisters – what does he need Theon for? Gods, it's so tempting to tell Arya exactly why he and Robb have been fighting, but Robb would probably kill him for corrupting his sweet little sister like that.

“You're not listening to me, are you?” Arya asks. “He is miserable. You can make him less miserable. Do it.” She waves him away with her hand. “Now.”

Theon gives her a dubious look. He doesn't really believe her. But he does want to.

* * *

The first time Robb fucks him, it's not exactly planned. It's bloody Arya's fault. She was dumb enough to give him hope, hope he didn't realise he was lacking. She makes him think he ought to be able to fix this, so he should at least try.

He knocks on Robb's door one night and is greeted by a Robb ready for bed, clad in his nightshirt and breeches. He frowns. Did Robb always used to wear so much while sleeping? “Robb,” he says, and he coughs before he tries to plaster on his usual smile. It's not like him to be so unsure of himself. It's not like him to put himself out there when things are so uncertain. “Can I come in?”

It takes a second, and Theon's afraid Robb will say no, that he'll slam the door in his face, that it's too late. But Robb nods, and opens the door for him, and in some ways that's worse – that means Theon actually has to make things right now.

They stare at each other. Theon sighs deeply. He's never learned how to make things right. “Look, I'm sorry, alright?” he says. “About what I said, about you–” he's never lacked for words to talk about fucking, and yet now he seems unable to do anything but make a crude gesture with his fingers. “That was cruel. And it wasn't fair.”

“It was true though,” Robb mutters, averting his eyes. “If anyone knew, they'd...”

Theon winces. He can't say Robb's wrong. Lord Stark might not beat his son to death in a fit of rage, like Theon's father might if he thought his son had let another man take him, but still he probably wouldn't be impressed. And that's leaving aside the rest of the North. “Well no-one does know, do they?” Theon grins again. “So what are you worried about?”

Robb meets his eyes for a brief moment, and then chuckles. Theon smiles at that. But still, it doesn't last long – Robb sighs heavily, and then sits down on his bed. “I should say sorry too,” he says. “I didn't mean to make you think you're not good enough for Sansa. That's not what I meant.”

Theon frowns. He wants to believe Robb about that, he does, but... “Well, what did you mean then?” Hesitantly, he joins Robb on the bed.

“I'm not quite sure.” Robb wrings his hands together in his lap. “Really, I think I was just angry. And jealous.”

“Jealous?” Theon blinks, confused. “Why?”

Robb gives him a disbelieving look. “You decided to ask about marrying my sister thirty seconds after fucking me, and you don't understand why I'd be jealous?”

Theon's mouth drops open. Fuck he's stupid – Robb's right, and it seems so bloody obvious now. It's just he never could understand the concept that Robb might get jealous over him. “I didn't mean it like...” and he trails off. How did he mean it?

“I was afraid you did,” says Robb. “I thought – maybe one Stark's much the same as another. I mean, they way you treat me when we – maybe that's all it ever was to you, fucking Lord Stark's son.”

“Robb, no.” Theon grabs Robb's hand, and even he's surprised by the genuine horror he hears in his voice. “...I mean, I'll admit, I probably didn't always treat you well. Like you deserved. But you were always more to me than that, always.”

Robb looks as if he wants to believe him. He smiles sadly. “I was afraid I wasn't good enough for you.”

Theon stares at him for a long moment.

And then he bursts out laughing.

“Theon?” Robb asks as Theon turns, trying to cover his face and conceal his hysterical gurgling – it's not the right time, he's just going to make Robb angry, but he seems unable to stop. “Theon, it's not funny. Theon!”

“I'm sorry,” Theon mumbles, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth, eventually having to dig his nails into his palm to regain some measure of control. “It's just... _you_ thought you weren't good enough for _me_. Seven hells, Stark...” he laughs some more, and Robb still looks confused, and a little alarmed.

Theon sighs deeply. “Look, the reason I asked about Sansa,” he says. “I – I wanted to feel I was good enough. To be like you. To be a Stark. When you acted like I wasn't, I – I didn't take it very well. I just wanted to know that, in some other world, I could be part of your family.”

“... _Oh_ ,” Robb says, and then his face is overwhelmed with guilt. “Oh. Oh Theon, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean–”

“No, it's not your fault. I should have realised–” and then he laughs again and shakes his head. It all seems so stupid in hindsight.

Robb sighs and softly, he cups Theon's jaw, guiding him to meet his eyes. Theon's a little surprised, but he allows the gesture – leans into it, even. “There's reason I didn't want you to marry Sansa,” Robb says. “And it's not about the girls, or the drinking, or anything like that. I mean, those might not make you ideal husband material, but – the real reason... I want my sister to marry a man who loves her.” Robb sighs. “And I know I'm being selfish, but – I want you to love me.”

“I do love you,” Theon blurts out, without thinking.

Robb stares. “You do?”

And then Theon has to laugh again. “Really, Stark?” he bats the boy's hand away playfully. “Did my pathetic pining when we weren't speaking not make it obvious enough? Fuck, if you're that oblivious the North is in for an interesting few decades.”

“Shut up,” Robb laughs and lightly smacks his shoulder. They stare at each other again, and Robb smiles. “I love you too.”

And Theon smiles, not like he usually does, but really, truly, the tug at the corners of his lips seems to come right from the core of him – he couldn't stop it if he tried. “Oh, I know.”

Robb laughs again. “Liar.” But then he kisses him, keeps any more truth or lies from spilling out of his mouth, and Theon soon finds having Robb's tongue in there is more pleasant anyway. Robb is taller than him now, he remembers that – usually they've kissed while lying down, so he's not had to, but he doesn't mind so much in this moment. He leans back and parts his lips, letting Robb's mouth dominate his own, and usually he'd never let that happen but right now he's so happy he can't bring himself to care.

The kiss grows deeper, longer, lewder, and Theon feels his breath go short and his blood flow between his legs as Robb's hand trails over his chest. It would be easy to act like everything's just gone back to normal then, but inexplicably, Theon finds himself pushing Robb away – gently, but still. Robb looks puzzled, perhaps a little worried, and Theon cups his jaw to reassure him. “You know, we don't have to,” he says, and he can hardly believe he is saying but he made Robb feel like he was only wanted for one thing, and Theon never wants him to feel that way again. “Not if you don't want to.”

A pause, and then Robb gives him a bashful grin. “I'm seventeen. I want to.” He answers, and kisses Theon again, which seemingly answers the question. Theon groans as Robb nips at his bottom lip, his cock leaping in his breeches, and Robb's hand quickly finds him and squeezes him.

“Fuck,” Theon gasps, and before he knows it they're falling onto the bed, Robb settling above him and kneeling between his thighs, and if Lord Balon Greyjoy knew what was happening, that his son and heir was spreading his legs for any man, let alone a Stark, the man might drop dead then and there from shame, but when Robb kisses him again it's hard for Theon to even remember what his father looks like.

But the kiss doesn't last long, unfortunately, and Theon lets out an embarrassingly disappointed whine as Robb leans up to pull his nightshirt up over his head. Then his eyes go wide. Robb's map still burns bright, and Theon can see every detail clear as day – the shape of Robb's muscle, the thickness of his arms, the taper of his waist, the hair across his chest, and the little trail beneath his navel leading down into his breeches. Theon bites his lip and groans with lust. Robb's not a boy anymore, not at all.

Robb doesn't even get to discard his nightshirt before Theon's grabbing at his breeches, trying to yank the laces open – and groping Robb's cock furtively while he does so. Robb moans and thrusts forward toward him, which doesn't make the unlacing any easier, but eventually Theon manages it, tugging Robb's breeches down his thighs – and he should be ashamed of the way his body arches up off the bed when he finally gets a good look at Robb's length. They've done this so many times under cover of darkness, he's never really let himself look at Robb before. He forgot that Robb is beautiful. And he didn't realise that Robb has a nice cock.

“Greedy,” Robb laughs, breathless, and Theon's attention is suddenly drawn back to his face. A part of him tells him to baulk – that he should grin his smug grin and turn the tables, pin Robb to the bed and show him who's _really_ in charge – but the way Robb looks at him puts an end to all that. Robb teases him, but with fondness, gentleness. So Theon smiles a different smile, and teases back.

“Maybe I am,” he says. “What are you going to do about it Stark?”

Then Robb is kissing him again, harder, dirtier this time, catching Theon's lip between his teeth as he slots their groins together – and Theon can do nothing but moan helplessly as Robb thrusts on top of him, his bare, hard cock rubbing against Theon's own through his breeches, and before Theon knows it Robb's hands are grabbing his thighs, guiding him further up to answer Robb's movement, and Theon complies easily, grinding against Robb like a wanton bitch.

“I was thinking about giving you what you want,” Robb breaks away from Theon's mouth to say, and then his hands are on Theon's crotch again, unlacing him. “Do you want this, Theon? Do you like it when I'm in charge?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Theon whispers in his ear, and maybe it's not much of an answer, but all things considered it's impressive he could even say that.

As soon as Robb has Theon's breeches down to his ankles Theon is leaning back and grabbing the spare pot of oil from beside the lamp – he considers blowing the thing out, but the oil there would probably be too hot to use for this, and besides, he wants to see. Quickly, he pours some into his own hand and uses it to stroke Robb's cock, making him gasp and close his eyes – Theon has to show Robb what he wants soon, lest Robb think he's just returned to his old ways. That, and he doesn't want to give himself the chance to think better of it.

Once Robb adjusts to the rhythm though, his eyes pop back open. “Are you sure?” he asks, even as he pants in pleasure while Theon wanks him off.

Theon nods. “It's only fair.” His stomach still rolls a little in dread at the thought of what this will make him – a deviant, a weakling, barely more than a saltwife – and yet he doesn't want to worry about those things anymore, he doesn't want to make himself push Robb down and treat him like he's worthless because after all, one of them has to be. He wants to be Robb's, as Robb is his. But Robb doesn't look convinced. “I _want to_ , Robb.”

And Robb's eyes squeeze shut again, while he lets out a guttural groan at Theon's thumb running over the slit of his cock. “Alright,” he gasps, and his eyes open again to grab the oil off Theon. “But I should get you open first, in that case. I don't want to tear you in half.”

Theon nods, letting go of Robb's cock to lean back, and let Robb take control. After all, he knows how this is going to feel better than Theon does.

As Robb moves down over his body, Theon spreads his legs wider, exposing himself. One of Robb's hands grabs his thigh, making him tilt his arse up into the air. Theon bites his lip. The image of his father's glare is lingering at the back of his mind, and he can't quite shake the thought away. He flinches. “Robb?”

“I'm here,” Robb answers, squeezing Theon's hand with his own while he presses a kiss to Theon's hipbone. “I'll look after you. Just... try to relax.” And so Theon tries, closing his eyes when he feels Robb's fingers press in between the cheeks of his arse. He'll be just fine.

Robb clearly doesn't want to rush it, spending a long time just rubbing back and forth, seeing how Theon responds, seeing how far he can stretch him before actually trying to push inside. It's a strange feeling, having someone touch him there, prodding and poking somewhere so intimate, but as Robb does it again twinges of pleasure surface within the sensation. When Robb teases him by pushing his finger in a little, not enough to actually breach him but enough to remind him he can, he will, Theon gasps and keens off the bed, almost asking for more. _Shit_.

He's kissed on the hip again while Robb applies more oil to his fingers. “You're alright, I've got you. I love you,” he says and then suddenly he takes Theon's length into his mouth, as one of his fingers slides into Theon's hole.

Theon gasps and lurches up again, thrusting into Robb's mouth. “Cheat,” he laughs, and Robb simply hums around him, sucking hard and fast as he slowly moves his finger back and forth, letting Theon adjust to the sensation. Theon moans and writhes on the bed, grabbing the sheets for purchase as Robb swallows him down, all the while splitting him open further.

It's a strange sensation, but it doesn't hurt as much as he feared, or at least Robb's mouth is a solid distraction from any pain that is there. “Oh fuck,” Theon groans as Robb's finger crooks inside him and finds something, some spot that makes a drop of seed spurt from his mouth and onto Robb's tongue. “Oh!”

Robb pulls off, leaving Theon's cock wet and neglected, kissing his hip again while he keeps moving his finger back and forth. “How does that feel?” he asks as he rubs over that same spot, until Theon can't help but keen and whimper, pleasure sparking up his spine. “Do you feel good?”

Theon barely understands what's happening, how this weird feeling can be so enjoyable, but it is, fuck, it is. If it's felt like this every time for Robb maybe he doesn't have to feel so guilty. “Yes,” he groans as more fluid spurts from his aching cock, some of it splashing across Robb's cheek. “Oh, fuck, _ye_ _s._ ”

With a grin, Robb kisses Theon's hipbone again, harder this time – he sucks the skin as if he's hoping to leave a mark. He doesn't even bother to wipe the seed from his cheek. “Love you,” he murmurs before taking Theon back into his mouth.

Theon gasps and clutches Robb's hair as he does it. He almost pushes the boy down further, but he manages to let go, to let Robb do as he will. He can't quite keep from grinning himself. “Love you too,” he whispers, not sure if Robb will hear him.

Robb moans and swallows Theon down far, far enough he must be about to gag, and Theon feels as if he should push Robb back before Robb goes and adds a second finger inside him, and that drives any thought so coherent from his mind. Theon can't tell which gesture makes him cry out louder.

The two fingers twist back and forth inside him, giving him some time to adjust, and then Robb pulls off his cock, panting for breath. Theon moans and finds himself thrusting back as Robb's fingers stretch him open, trying to force them deeper, to push them against that spot inside, and Robb's eyes go a little wide. “Fuck, harder,” Theon hears himself gasp.

Robb raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” he asks, mayhaps a little teasing but also genuinely concerned.

Theon shouldn't be, he should be fussing and fretting and pushing Robb away before it's too late, but it's barely possible to even think like that when Robb touches him there. “Oh, yes, _yes_ ,” he gasps and Robb chuckles as he picks up the pace, pushing his fingers into Theon hard and fast, making that spot fucking sing, and Theon has to cover his mouth with his hand so he won't scream and wake the whole castle.

Before he knows it there's a third finger in his arse as well and somehow it's even better when he's being stretched wider, and Robb has moved back up the bed, leaning over Theon and pressing their mouths together. Theon moans as he tastes himself in Robb's mouth, and it's wet and dirty and yet still so quintessentially _Robb_ , Theon can taste him in it too, all his love and goodness and everything Theon's never been able to resist.

“You're beautiful,” Robb whispers as he breaks the kiss, and a shudder runs through Theon's whole body. He doesn't think he's ever been told that before in his life. “Gods, Theon, I want to fuck you. You have no idea how much I want to fuck you.”

Theon groans and squeezes Robb's shoulder with his fingers. “Then – do it, fuck, you prick, don't keep me hanging here–”

“Are you sure?” Robb asks again, because of course he does, because he's Robb. “Are you certain that's what you want?”

“Yes,” Theon moans as he thrusts up towards Robb's fingers. “I trust you.” And he's not sure he's ever said that before in his life.

Then the fingers are gone, and Theon's surprised by the loud, needy whine he lets out as he finds himself empty, and bizarrely dissatisfied with it. Then Robb kisses him again while he slots himself into position; Theon feels the head of Robb's cock pressed against his hole and he moans into Robb's mouth, clutching at his shoulders, overwhelmed and afraid but still thinking _more, please, fuck_.

Robb groans and starts to push in, slowly, while Theon lets his jaw drop open, throws his head back and spreads his legs wider. He clutches at the furs again and wills himself to relax. It's _thick_ , thicker than the fingers and Theon's not quite sure he can take it. He wants to, though. He wants to take it the same way Robb has. He bites his lip as the head of Robb pops through the ring of muscle, and then he lets out a groan, half-pleasure half-pain, as he stretches around the width.

“Theon?” Robb asks, hesitating. “Are you alright? Am I hurting you?”

He's not quite sure himself. He takes a shaky breath. “I'll be alright,” he promises breathlessly. “Come on, Stark, I'm ironborn. I can take a bit of a sting.”

Robb smiles faintly, but he doesn't move, instead taking Theon's hand again – his fingers still slick with oil – and squeezing. “But you don't have to,” he promises, staring into Theon's eyes. “You know that, right?”

Theon's breath goes short, and just then, he can feel his muscle relaxing, loosening up to let Robb in deeper. “I know,” he says, and grins. “But I don't want you thinking I can't take what you can.”

“It's not a competition, Theon,” Robb chuckles, but he does thrust in deeper, making Theon moan and arch up towards him. Robb kisses his cheek distractedly. “Does that feel good?”

Theon feels his head start spinning and Robb is in him deep enough to brush against that spot again, to have him squirming and trying to get more, and he digs his nails into Robb's shoulder to try and encourage him. “Yeah,” he says softly, and whines as Robb shallowly rocks back and forth inside him. “Yeah, more, harder, fuck–”

Robb lets out a needy groan and shocks Theon with a sudden, hard thrust that makes him cry out, that makes his body spasm from head to toe. Robb's now fully seated inside him, unable to resist anymore, and Theon moans as he squirms again, making Robb rub against that spot harder. “Oh, oh, fuck.”

“Good?” Robb asks, and Theon can't do anything but whine and nod.

It's then Robb starts to fuck him properly, setting an infuriatingly regular pace, not too hard and not too fast, but enough to make Theon's mind fizzle every time Robb thrusts all the way in, filling up his hole, and making him crave more. He finds his legs up and wound around Robb's waist as he keens underneath, all but begging for more as Robb pants above him.

Robb kisses him with what little breath he has, murmuring against his lips. “So good, so tight,” he says, “love you...” And then, it's like he the words are stuck in his mouth and no matter how many times he says them, he can't get them out. “Love you, love you, oh, oh...”

Theon whines and digs his nails into Robb's shoulder. “Harder... harder, please...” he begs, needy as a maiden and unable to care, not when Robb groans in his ear and starts thrusting into him deeper, faster, better, rocking his body to the core and making him wonder how he ever lived without this feeling. He feels raw, open, vulnerable, but at the same time he knows Robb isn't going to hurt him – Robb isn't going to let him down.

Robb catches Theon's lip between his teeth as he starts to fuck without hesitation, as hard and as fast as he can manage, and Theon moans at the thought that Robb just can't resist his desires anymore; Robb wants it, wants _him_ , too much. He gasps and tightens his legs around Robb's waist, spurring him on, while he babbles into his mouth. “Fuck, harder, love, please, fuck me, love, love you, please...”

It doesn't last very long, and when Robb starts fumbling for Theon's cock Theon lets out a cry and can feel himself already dripping onto Robb's skin. “That's it sweetling, come for me,” Robb whispers in his ear and Theon's body wastes no time obeying; he tightens so much around Robb's length it almost hurts and then he lets out a choked moan, while seed spurts from his length and splashes over Robb's belly. His mind goes white and for a moment he doesn't know where he is. When he surfaces again, Robb is letting out a low, animal groan above him, clutching Theon's hair as his cock pulses and then Theon can feel him spending, hard, filling Theon's arse with his seed. He moans and throws his head back again, feeling stained, marked, owned.

Afterward they just lie there a moment, still locked together, both trying to get their breath back. Robb lets his head rest on Theon's shoulder for awhile, but then he leans up and looks him in the eye again. “Theon, are you–?”

Theon kisses him before Robb can dare ask if he's alright. Robb lets out a noise of surprise, but happily kisses back, until Theon pulls away with a satisfied sigh. “I feel amazing, Stark,” Theon tells him, and he knows he shouldn't – he should feel guilty and ashamed. And yet, with Robb on top of him like this, here and now, he can shake the feeling that things are just _right_. “You worry too much.”

Robb gives him a bashful smile and kisses him again, just a quick peck on the lips this time. “Maybe,” he says. “But you'll be glad when I keep the whole castle from catching us.” Theon frowns. Robb has a point – happy as he is in this moment, it doesn't really solve anything. The Starks might be less likely to take his head if they catch Robb fucking him than the other way around, but still, he doesn't think they'd be pleased. He doesn't know what they'd do. Robb sighs deeply. “So, what happens now?”

Theon has no idea. Part of him wants to say _well now we tell your parents we're in love and we want to be wed,_ but he knows that's not how it works – Robb will marry whatever Northern girl his parents pick out for him and Theon will go back to the Iron Islands someday, with a rockwife and saltwives to boot. It's what boys like them do. Still, part of him can't shake the thought that maybe the Starks could, would understand, if only they could see how in love their son looks right now. He sighs in turn. “I don't know.” It's maybe the most honest thing he's ever said.

“I'm not going to let you go,” Robb vows, and he squeezes Theon's hand. Theon smiles.

“I know.”

He has fallen, and he doesn't mind.


End file.
